Consumed (Firefighters #1)(98)

And because of that, she decided to stop fighting it, fighting him . . . fighting the outcome that seemed to, no matter the particulars or the place, always bring them together.

Sometimes strength rested not in resistance, but in the release of arms against a foe of one’s own creation.





chapter




46



Later that morning, Tom was sitting back at his desk in the fishbowl, drumming his fingers on reports he was supposed to read and sign off on, when someone came into the stationhouse.

Getting to his feet, he motioned for them to come around, and when his sister opened the door, he was embarrassed that she might have seen him staring off into space.

“Didn’t know you were coming over.” He nodded to the vacant chair on the far side of things. “You need a seat?”

“Yes, thanks.”

As Anne got settled, he studied her. “So Mom called me yesterday. She said you two had talked.”

It wasn’t a surprise when her eyes locked on all his disorganized paperwork. “I . . . ah, I might have been really unfair about her. To her. I think she had to deal with some things that I was unaware of. I also think our father might have been a monster under all that I’m-a-hero shit, but you and I can argue about that at a different time.”

“I’m done arguing.” When she looked up sharply, he put a hand out. “That sounds defensive, it isn’t. I am literally, for myself, tired of arguing with everybody.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother.”

“You know, I could say the same thing about you with Mom.”

“So we’ve both been taken over by aliens. Good to know—do we need new driver’s licenses.”

Tom smiled a little. “Yeah. Maybe we do. So what’s up? You need something?”

“Yeah, I want to talk to you about Charles Ripkin.”

Leaning back in his old wooden chair, he crossed his leg, ankle to knee. “Don’t know the guy, really.”

“When he talked to you about this building”—she motioned around his fishbowl and all the bright-and-shiny beyond it—“was he . . . did you ever feel like he was trying to buy us off? The fire department, I mean.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Whatever happened at his house with his daughter? Maybe those fires down at the warehouses?”

“No.” Tom crossed his arms and told himself now was the time to stick to his new leaf. Namaste and all that shit. “What are you insinuating? That I took a bribe or something? What for, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I agree. I’ve read all of our incident reports. I just . . . a man like that doesn’t do anything for a purpose that doesn’t advance his self-interests, right? I mean, his reputation is what it is for a reason. He’s ruthless and shady, and I’ve done extensive searches on him. Do you realize that this firehouse is the only philanthropic thing he’s done?”

“That’s not possible. All rich guys give to shit. They get museum wings named after themselves, donate libraries and research centers.”

“Ripkin hasn’t. He gives to political candidates, but not nonprofits.”

Tom frowned. “What kind of politicians?”

“He’s a registered Republican, but he donates across the spectrum.”

“What about Mayor Mahoney. He give to her?”

“Yes. He’s topped out for this election.”

“What’s that mean?”

“He’s given Mahoney’s campaign up to the legal limit. I can show you the report if you’d like?”

“Nah. Not a surprise.” He shrugged, although whether that was to convince his sister or himself that he didn’t care, he wasn’t sure—and didn’t want to dwell on. “He’s in deep with her on this wharf thing. I had a meeting with her the other night, and she and her lackey Perry had just met with Ripkin Development. Doing that area over is one of her election imperatives—or whatever they call them.”

As Anne grew quiet, he sat forward. “What’s going on.”

“Just trying to figure this all out.”

“Define ‘this.’ And before you tell me to mind my own business, I’d like to point out that in your entire professional career, you’ve never come to my office about anything. You must be here for a reason.”

There was a period of silence, and then Anne looked him directly in the eye. “I think Ripkin tried to kill his own daughter and make it look like an accident. And he gave this building to our fire service and played the grateful parent to support the appearance that it was terrible accident and we were the heroes. I think my office did sloppy investigating due to short staffing and now we’re screwed. There’s no statute of limitations on arson in the Commonwealth, but all the physical evidence is gone. There’s nothing left to reexamine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I went into our storage to get the evidence box and it was gone. There’s the written report online, and a few photographs, but the actual samples and evidence is gone.”

“Was there much in it?”

“I don’t know. Samples were noted, but I don’t know how thorough the listing is—and I checked with the NBPD. They don’t have anything on the case because our office didn’t rule it arson.”